


Changes (E)

by sailsandanchors



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: F/M, Future Fic, un-betaed madness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-14
Updated: 2013-08-14
Packaged: 2017-12-23 10:20:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/925220
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sailsandanchors/pseuds/sailsandanchors
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sansa proposes to Sandor</p>
            </blockquote>





	Changes (E)

**Author's Note:**

> This is a prompt by the lovely psychesandsexdrives for the SansanSecretValentine ages ago, the R version

The sun is shining through the window and I can hear mock battle cries and the clanging of swords coming from the yard. I pull the drapes aside and lean on the windowsill. My esteemed consort and our baby brother are training again, like they always do, with swinging swords and grinning faces. I smile as Rickon lands in the dirt and Arya lets out a whoop of victory.

When we found him his face was covered in dried mud and blood, his clothes mere threads hanging from sinewy limbs.  He had wild, direwolf eyes and a cruel mouth that snarled at us as we approached. Somehow our Rickon was still inside that husk and he is slowly returning to us. He and Arya have grown inseparable this past year, they built their rooms right next to each other and they jest and drink and try to kill each other in training. Time and time again she is able to pull him out of the darkness and I think he helps her as well. They rode off together when Arya heard word of Gendry and together they headed off on the longest hunting trip, when they returned to the North without him. Now it seems they are back.

Sandor is stirring in our bed, muttering gruff nothings and I return to his side, resting my back against the cool head board.

I called for him late last night and he came as always, the captain of my Queensguard, my loyal friend, my love. His rough hands and soft touch made me forget about the letter. There it is, on my writing desk, taunting me from afar. Another marriage proposal, the third I have received this month and certainly not the last.  I expect there will be even more to come once the roads are cleared of the last snow of winter, this time in person. I never thought that I would wish for spring to delay it’s arrival.

A large arm curls instinctively around my legs and I trace lazy paths up and down his many scars, some still angry and red and others wispy white threads. I owe these lines my life in more ways than one. We spent many nights together when I reclaimed the North, Sandor refused to leave my side when it was his turn to guard the Queen, even if he was clearly bleeding on the floor of my tent. Since he wouldn’t move and I like my floors without blood I had the maester inspect him after battle.

For such a big, strong man he most certainly is too childish by half.

He snorts as if he can hear my thoughts.

One night I decided that I had enough of him staring at me, getting caught and then pretending to be very interested in the hilt of his sword. His chest was bare and he had a disgruntled look on his face as the maester declared that this time it was indeed just a scratch on his hand and headed out. I had moved towards Sandor with long strides and my mind set to purpose. I took his scarred hand in mine and softly kissed it, my eyes never leaving his. Not even a Queen could resist the way his face softened, the deep lines on his forehead gone in a blink, or how his breath hitched and he waited frozen in place to see what I would do next. I had cupped his burnt cheek and he lowered his head almost in reverence, closing his eyes and saying my name. “Sansa” he had rasped and I leaned in and kissed him with a growing hunger, until he melted into me.

I am his and he is mine.

Arya is the only one who has knowledge of our entanglement, beyond rumors in hushed tones. Aware and weary, she always knocks twice before making her way through any locked door.

Maybe more people should know. I look at the letter again and I smile.

His beard rustles against my thighs with a familiar roughness, making my toes curl in memory.  He looks up at me with half-open eyes “You seem content.” he says and he pulls me down so our faces are a whisper apart. I can feel him smile as I give him a small kiss on the burnt side of his mouth. “I have no reason to worry” I reply with a happy sigh. He tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. “Good” he mumbles and starts kissing his way down my neck.

"Would you do anything for your Queen?" I say.

"Just ask." he mutters absently and resumes his lazy kisses. "Would you marry if I so wished it?" he stops. "To any girl of your Queen’s choosing?" He pulls away and looks at me with stormy eyes "What is this bloody about woman?" I take a deep breath "I want you to be happy; you have been at war for so long. Maybe you should settle down, have a couple of children." I seem to be unable to add "with me".

"If you tire of me just say so and I will leave if that’s what you want. Don’t go on about a happy life for me with some bloody wench, raising goats and fathering children." he barks and I dance around some more. "Raising goats? I did not have that in mind. But know that you mention it, it sounds lovely, perhaps…". "Sansa! Speak plain or be done with me. I want no part in your games." he says, irritation not masking his hurt. Not from me.

I’m surprised by how calm, how sure my voice sounds “Marry me, Sandor?”

He lets out a breath as if he’s been struck in the chest. This does not bode well. He sits up and turns his back to me, hand rubbing the back of his neck. “No.” he says flatly and moves away when I try to pull him around. Not the answer I wished for “No?” He gets up off the bed and moves towards the window. There is a long silence until he finally says “You don’t want me. You want a young lad with pretty words and courtesies, some brave and strong lor”. He turns to face me, looking aged all of a sudden, more somber than usual. “I destroy and kill, I rip away life. I won’t be much use supporting it. You should know that by now. You don’t want me, girl. You want someone whole.”

Gods save me I love him, but I did not intend for my day to start like this.

"I think I am well aware of what I want. I have had enough of lords and princes. I am no girl If Florian himself sent word I would decline. I’ve denied their proposals, thrown their poems in the fire. Your answer can be no until you run out of years, yet do not suppose it is wise to not only deny a Queen’s proposal but then presume to know what is best for her."  I’m standing on the edge of the bed now, almost shouting. He comes closer and looks as if he is about to say something.

"No, you let me finish! I want to marry you Sandor Clegane and I do not care if you still think you are not good enough because you bloody well are! Do you want to marry me or not?"

He smothers my squeal of surprise with a kiss as he lifts me off the bed, his large hands cupping me from behind and sending a jolt of pleasure to my core. I wrap my legs around him and run my fingers through his hair, tugging hard. He groans and turns us around shoving me against the closest wall, grinding against me, making me moan. The contrast of his warm skin and the icy wall sends pleasant shivers through my body. His kisses become deeper, rougher and I feel him grow hard against our moistening garments. I unlace his trousers and he hitches up my night dress, I can hear it rip as he pulls it over my head and I don’t care. I bite down on his bottom lip to stop from screaming when he cups my breast and his thumb brushes over an erect nipple.

I start stroking him, feeling him pulse and twitch against the palm of my hand. He jerks my hand away and places it on his shoulder. Strong arms lift me up and move me so his hip is rubbing against me. His skin becomes slick with arousal as I lose myself. Rough fingers move over my sensitive skin, plying and stroking.  My nails dig into the back of his neck “I take it your answer is yes then?” I manage to pant, holding on to him for dear life.  I mourn the loss of friction when he brings me to his center once more; there is a troubling expression of amusement on his face. He enters me finally and I gasp in delight. “It is not wise to deny a Queen’s proposal” he rasps, stressing each word with a thrust.

My whole body is on fire and I buck against him faster and rougher, in a mad effort to find release. My knees grow weak, my legs are shaking. His bruising grasp on my hips holds me in place as I writhe and gasp. I feel myself become undone, but not before I take him with me. I scrape my teeth against the base of his neck and I clench around him, muttering his name over and over again like prayer. He loses his balance and has to brace himself against the wall, groaning as he spills inside me with fast, erratic thrusts. His legs buckle and we fall to the floor in a sweaty, undignified heap of blissful satisfaction.

I roll off him and my back hits the soft pelts on the floor. “I would have proposed sooner had I known that it would lead to this!” I say with a breathless laugh. “Saying no was what had you hopping all over that bed, angry and bloody gorgeous, so maybe I should do that more often” he says folding his hands behind his head and stretching. I want to wipe that smirk right of his face with a kiss but I’m too tired to move, so I settle for pressing my elbow in his side.

"I only get angry when it matters, my sweetest betrothed. Now, how many goats do you wish for your wedding gift?"

 


End file.
